


Hullabaloo

by kheelwithit



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Excessive Lube, Fingering, First Time, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Nervousness, at first, bad anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 20:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kheelwithit/pseuds/kheelwithit
Summary: Sinbad can’t help but wonder--What's all the hullabaloo for? Is it really that good?





	Hullabaloo

Ja'far curls up in his King's blankets, sloppy and a little worse for wear, considering the paperwork piling up on his desk, probably, but sated for now. Undoubtedly, there will be something to interrupt it, probably while he's still basking in a wonderful afterglow. 

But while he has the time, Ja'far allows himself to enjoy the moment of relaxation in the downy pillows and too expensive sheets. And while he has it, Sinbad greedily soaks up Ja'far in a state where he's not expecting anything but a nap and a small disaster. 

Still at least eighty percent better than what he usually worries about, which may, on a good day, vary from the economic collapse of the world as they know it to full blown war.

Being Prime Minister leaves a lot of weight on his shoulders, a weight that falls away when he’s under his king, shoved full to the brim and aching enough to drive thoughts out of his mind, leave nothing but Sinbad who unwinds, him, winds him up again another way until he breaks and there’s nothing left and Sinbad can’t help but wonder--

What's all the hullabaloo for? Is it really that good? 

 

The next time Ja'far sees his king, he chokes. 

The normal 'Good afternoon, Sin." is cut off with the rest of his thoughts and a strangled noise comes out instead and it's not exactly dignified, but what else is he to do when his entire view of the High King is his ass and two fingers inside of it? 

Yes, Ja'far thinks he can be excused for any odd actions or sounds he might've made; the gasp and the step closer and the way that his eyes roam appreciatively at the way the High King himself wiggles back on his hand, grunts, whines even, while he's on all fours. 

Ja'far is sure that Sin doesn't know he's here, isn't sure he wants to let him know. He's sure to close the door silently and stands just inside the entrance without a sound while his king tries to work himself over as thoroughly as he does his other bedmates. Ja'far is fascinated by the way Sin's hole stretches to accommodate his fingers, the flashes of pink that grace his vision when Sinbad pulls his fingers entirely out and hisses before he jams them back in while his cock is flaccid. He's positively sure that his King is grimacing, and Ja'far's incurable intolerance for badly done tasks comes in with a vengeance because that's certainly not how you stretch anything out and if his King continues as he is, he'll only ache and Ja'far has the experience to know that it's hardly a pleasant feeling. 

He's moving before he even has time to properly think it over: has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his fingers slathered in cold aloe and a knee on the bed in an instant and then Sinbad notices him and it's loud. Ja'far doesn't care that his King is yelping like a kicked dog, yanking three thick fingers out of his ass and Ja’far taps at the hands trying to cover the somewhat hypnotic sight of that pretty hole closing up, fluttering weakly, with silk sheets and blankets and curses. 

"Come now, Sin. Do it correctly or not at all." Sinbad splutters, Ja'far cocks an eyebrow and Sin eyes him like the predator he hardly is. With a pace that makes Ja'far roll his eyes and sigh, Sinbad slides the sheets off of himself, pushes his hips back, a little even. But he doesn't take his cutting, golden gaze off of him for a second. 

Ja'far smiles at him like he’s trying to calm a child and spreads taught cheeks with the palm of his hand, massaging lightly to try to make his King relax.   
Ja'far puts his other knee on the bed, kicks his slippers off and scoots closer, disregarding his keffiyeh when it slides over his shoulder in favor of grasping Sinbad's cock with slick fingers, thick even when it's soft and it twitches immediately. Sinbad buries his face in the mess of pillows and his own unbound hair and 

 

Ja'far squeezes it just a bit, flicks his wrist lightly and takes every little hitch of breath in stride, brushes his lips across Sinbad's spine to see him jerk and there's a ill concealed groan into the pillows when Ja'far's other hand cups his balls, lightly scratches and laughs when every muscle in Sin's back ripples tantalizingly. He looks back at Ja'far slowly again with a tint of red that spreads across his cheeks and extends to the tips of his ears and his adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly.

Ja'far elects not to embarrass his King for now, doesn't deign to give his king a single look, even and keeps himself busy by bringing his fingers back to massage at a little patch of skin and Sin hums. The weight of his cock is a solid thing in Ja'far's steady hands and Ja'far uses his thumb to swipe over the head and press in slightly. It's a sign that his King is more than ready when Sinbad's hips rock into his hand and he sinks to his elbows in a way that Ja'far's certain he knows is sultry. He runs a hand through his hair and if Ja'far didn't know better, he'd say he his king was purring.

It's Ja'far's turn to swallow thickly now. Trying very hard to keep his wits about him, he trails his fingers even further back, presses his middle digit inside his ass, swirls in slow circles. Sinbad isn’t purring anymore; all Ja’far can hear are trembling exhales and Ja’far doesn’t let up, uses his other hand to spread Sin’s ass and his King only whines weakly, moves back onto his fingers. Ja’far isn’t quite ready to oblige yet, though. He inspects Sinbad’s asshole carefully, the way that no matter how recently thick, careless fingers were working through it, it’s closed right back up. 

“I suppose this is the first time you’ve tried this.” Sinbad groans as the pad of Ja’far’s thumb comes to press at Sinbad’s ass slightly and god, he’s fascinated by the twitch of it. He wants to-- 

“I’m going to start with one.” Ja’far murmurs, dips his finger into the little brass pot of aloe again,   
He wants to taste it a little bit, but-- maybe later. 

Ja’far may have intentionally scooped up too much on his fingers if only to hold Sinbad’s cheeks open, let it drip down onto his ass make it twitch just one more time and he’s going to think about that later, he’s certain. There’s no way the weak, trilling moan will be forgotten either and Sin is almost a sight that incites pity, clenching the bedsheets, unsure of everything and squirming almost silently, his mouth slack but his eyes stay locked on Ja’far, filled with a desperation that he doesn’t even know is there.

“I’ll make it good.” Ja’far’s teeth dig into his lip and he slips his finger inside. His finger slides inside with more ease than a virgin’s ass has any right to allow and Ja’far wonders how long his King was at this before he interrupted in the quiet as Sinbad adjusts again to the feeling of friendlier, more slender fingers inside him and Ja’far strokes the back of his thighs, fucks him shallow and slow to let him feel this, make him learn to love it. 

“It feels better if you push back.” Ja’far mutters into his King’s lower back, sure to let his lips drag across the skin and Sinbad does, hesitantly and terribly graceless with not one hint of rhythm as he tries to figure out how the people underneath him do it so well and Ja’far bites his lip with the effort not to laugh, wraps his hand around his King’s hips and pulls him back slow, makes Sin push his ass into his slowly crooking finger once, twice pressing down on something that Ja’far knows is delightful in the most overwhelming ways and Sinbad’s body locks up like volts of electricity are running wild across his skin, in his blood. 

“This is what you were looking for, isn’t it?” Sinbad doesn’t answer him, of course; he’s busy still clumsily shoving his body back, too obtuse to listen to Ja’far’s careful guidance until his grip turns cruel, demanding. 

“I know what you want, Sin. Let me give it to you, yes?” 

Masculinity is such a fragile thing. Sinbad’s broad hands tangle themselves in his hair again and every muscle in his body clenches like he’s damn near afraid of feeling good like this. 

Until Ja’far pushes his finger deep, perfect, enough to make Sinbad’s composure collapse like a house of cards.


End file.
